


self-care

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 07:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Joey showers away the gross vague hangover feeling and the bitterness, and decides today is a detox day. No thinking about last season, no wondering what Owen’s doing, if he’s having more fun with his friends than he does with Joey, if one of those friends is not actually a friend but instead a ‘friend’. No Scouts, so he’ll put a hold on plans to murder Willy until at least tomorrow. No teeth. Fuck his bridge. Day of toothlessness for Joey.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 35
Kudos: 346





	self-care

So here’s an incredibly embarrassing fact: for about ten seconds, Joey was totally swayed by Tate Williams’ charm. And by ten seconds he means the start of training camp during his rookie year, when Willy was nice and welcoming and also, okay, Willy is a better than average looking person, especially compared to the typical hockey player. Objective fact. Joey was taken in by all of it.

Then Joey got to know him, and he quickly recovered.

Because Willy is the worst.

Owen does not appear to know Willy is the worst, and that’s understandable, because Willy’s doing his nice charming thing, minus any of the Worst Willy stuff. Well, except for the fact he is revelling in telling Owen mortifying stories about Joey, but obviously that isn’t the worst to Owen, just Joey. 

It’s been at least three rounds of drinks and neither Willy nor Trigger has run out of stories — they’re taking turns — which has Joey thinking that a) they are the worst people ever and he should immediately cut off all contact with them and b) Joey has done way too much stupid shit.

“You didn’t!” Owen says, attention drifting from Willy for long enough to elbow Joey in the side. He’s pink cheeked and a little tipsy and terribly pretty, and it’s such a shame that he now knows every single stupid thing Joey’s done in the last five years.

“I didn’t?” Joey tries weakly.

“He did,” Trigger says, and Willy backs him up.

“I did,” Joey admits. 

_they have not run out of embarrassing stories save me from this torture_ , Joey texts Scratch under the table. He expects nothing more than crying laughing emojis for his trouble, certainly no rescue — way to flake out when Joey needs him most — but it should be recorded for posterity that Joey requested aid. 

“I did not do that!” Joey says when he catches the end of Willy’s latest recital of Joey’s idiocy, not actually lying this time, because it was, in fact, Scratch’s idiocy that lead to the 2 a.m. fire alarm in the middle of winter in fucking _Edmonton_. “That was Scratch.”

Scratch, who decided he’d have a post-midnight snack and was too sleepy and dumb to remember to take off the aluminium foil before he stuck leftovers in the hotel room’s microwave. That was back when they were on ELCs and shared a room on the road, so Joey got to wake up to smoke and screaming. Not a fun night. Joey vividly remembers shivering in his boxers and t-shirt while they waited for the fire department, because he hadn’t had the time or brain power to put on pants before fleeing the room, and the small fire within it. So, so cold.

Willy waves a hand. “You’re basically the same person.”

“That was Scratch,” Joey mutters to Owen. 

“I believe you,” Owen says, kind of like he he does believe Joey, but also with this twist of ‘even though I now know that is totally on brand for you, because your teammates have revealed that you are a moron, I do believe that you did not do this one specific stupid thing’. It’s rough. 

“You want another?” Willy asks as he gets up, to the table in general, but with the extra smarmy grin at Owen. He’s a jerk. 

Owen looks down at his phone. “Shit,” he says. “I should head out, actually, it’s gotten late.”

“Plans tomorrow?” Willy asks, and Joey can’t resent him for being nosy because he’s wondering that himself. It’s not _that_ late, and Owen doesn’t have classes on Sundays. Is it another date? 

It’s none of Joey’s business if it’s another date.

“Just meeting some friends for brunch,” Owen says, and Joey does not feel offended that he was not invited because that would be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know any of Owen’s friends, so why would he be invited? Except for the way Owen is currently surrounded by Joey’s friends. Teammates. Joey has no friends at this bar, except for Owen.

“I’ll walk you out?” Joey says.

“Thanks,” Owen says, shooting him a lopsided grin, and Joey follows him outside. 

“You don’t have to wait with me,” Owen says, after he orders an Uber.

“You’re way better company than those guys,” Joey says.

“They were nice,” Owen says.

“Only because all the horrible stories weren’t about you,” Joey says.

“Okay, fair,” Owen says. “They weren’t _that_ horrible.”

That’s nice of Owen to say. Untrue, but nice.

“This was fun,” Owen says when Uber’s set to arrive, craning his head around trying to spot the license plate, then raising a hand once he spots it. “We should do it again.”

Joey wants to kiss his drink flushed face so badly, but it’s not a good idea, and wouldn’t be even if Owen hadn’t spent the whole night hearing how Joey was the exact polar opposite of what you would consider a catch. 

“Text me to let me know you got home safe?” Joey says.

“Okay,” Owen says, giving him a hug, a there and gone flash of warmth, and Joey waits for the car to pull out before he goes back inside. He should honestly go home himself, but he left his coat inside, and they all fucking owe him a drink or ten for the indignity.

“Aww, I thought you weren’t coming back,” Willy says.

“So sorry to disappoint,” Joey says.

“I meant because you were going home with Owen, god Munroe,” Willy says.

“He seems more into you than me,” Joey mumbles, sitting down beside him and stealing a sip of the lividly red drink in front of Willy. Vodka soda with cranberry, except instead of a splash of cran it’s a splash of soda. 

“That’s mine,” Willy protests, but lets Joey steal it and then takes a sip of a mostly full beer in front of him, so Joey suspects that, despite his words, he knew Joey was going to be coming back. “And I’m very charming, who wouldn’t be into me?”

“Fine,” Joey says immediately. Willy being arrogant as fuck — or in Willy’s words ‘accurately describing myself’ because, again, he is arrogant as fuck — has been a fine-able offense for years.

He holds his hand out until Willy sighs and slaps a fifty into it.

“It’s a hundred,” Joey points out. It started out as twenty, but it wasn’t enough of a deterrent, so they’ve been steadily increasing it.

“I’ve been buying your sorry ass drinks all night,” Willy retorts, which Joey supposes is fair. He definitely dropped at least fifty between Joey and Owen, and even if he was doing it to show off — which he was — Joey’ll waive it. “He didn’t run screaming when he heard the fountain story, that’s a good sign.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Trigger,” Joey says.

Trigger gives him an unrepentant thumbs up, before he stands and stretches, legit nearly touching the ceiling with his fingers when he does. People keep glancing over at him, probably all ‘is that Bigfoot?!’. “Heading out. Joey?”

“Yeah,” Joey says. Trigger lives two blocks from Joey and Scratch’s building, so it makes sense, and Owen’s gone, so there’s nothing to hang around for, unless it’s lurking in the alley waiting for Willy to strangle him like he promised he would.

“Is that Owen?” Trigger asks when they’re in the back seat, Joey trying to stake just a little space among all of Trigger’s gigantic limbs and answer Owen’s text saying he got home safe at the same time. “I like him.”

“Of course you do, he let you embarrass me all night,” Joey says.

“Someone had to do it,” Trigger says. “Since Scratch wasn’t here to.”

“Scratch would never,” Joey says. “Did he tell you why he left so early?” 

If there’s anyone Scratch would have told, it’d be Trigger. Well, it’d be Joey, but Scratch didn’t, so.

Trigger shrugs. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

It’s kind of comforting to hear that from Trigger, sounds less like a weird excuse. 

“Tell Owen he’s welcome to come around any time,” Trigger says when he gets out at his place.

“Not a chance in hell,” Joey says, though, sadly, if Owen indicates that he wants to come out again — and it seems like he will — Joey is probably powerless to resist. Plus Joey is almost positive Willy got Owen’s number tonight, so even if Joey somehow summoned the ability to get a spine and say ‘I prefer hanging out just the two of us’, Willy would probably just go around him and invite Owen out himself.

_Good news is no one died_ , Joey texts Scratch before he heads to bed, a glass of water and two aspirin tablets waiting for him on his bedside table, just in case — he didn’t have that much, but his last drink was a blast of sugar, and sugary cocktails and Joey are not friends.

He feels okay waking up, at least physically — mortification has lasted through the night, it seems. He sips a little water to get rid of the gross dry mouth, checks his phone, finding a text from Scratch finally replying to him with a thumbs up emoji timestamped 3:53 am.

_What the hell were you doing up?_ Joey texts Scratch, and doesn’t get a response, unsurprisingly, considering at most he’s snatched at most five hours of sleep, then responds to a text from Owen saying, _Mimosa time!_ with a smiley, and does not feel left out because he isn’t partaking in mimosa time. Bad idea anyway, because Joey drinking before dark always ends poorly. Many of the stories about him last night started that way. You go deep in the playoffs, run yourself ragged like that, even a damned Natty Light will fuck you up. If they’d won the Cup Joey might not have survived the celebration that followed.

Well, re-opening old wounds is definitely inferior to mimosas as a way to start your day. This year will be different. They’re tearing up the whole league, head and shoulders above everyone else, and yeah, a President’s Trophy doesn’t guarantee shit, but Joey doesn’t think it’s the curse some guys seem to think it is, and at this point it’s theirs to lose.

Joey showers away the gross vague hangover feeling and the bitterness, and decides today is a detox day. No thinking about last season, no wondering what Owen’s doing, if he’s having more fun with his friends than he does with Joey, if one of those friends is not actually a friend but instead a ‘friend’. No Scouts, so he’ll put a hold on plans to murder Willy until at least tomorrow. No teeth. Fuck his bridge. Day of toothlessness for Joey.

Joey doesn’t bother to get dressed beyond boxers and a cushy robe his sister got him for Christmas a few years back, the one that makes him feel like he’s at a spa. He makes himself toast with a thin spread of jam, brews a pot of tea, stirring in a spoonful of honey as a little treat for himself, then curls up on the couch and looks through his Netflix to-watch list to find something easy and brainless to watch. He still hasn’t picked anything the third time he’s gone through the list, and is mildly stressed out by how many freaking choices there are, so he just ends up watching Parks and Rec for the billionth time. Which is fine. Parks and Rec is self-care, obviously. Treat Yo’ Self.

“You’re such a fucking loser,” Scratch says from the hall when Joey’s six episodes in. Joey does not recall inviting him up. “Tea? Did you do those little sandwiches too? The ones cut into little corners?”

“Toast,” Joey says. “With jam.” 

Toast that Joey may have cut into corners. It makes it last longer, eight little crunchy raspberry treats.

“Oh, with _jam_ ,” Scratch says. “Jesus, how bad was last night?”

“You’d know if you’d stuck around,” Joey says. “They told him about the fountain.”

Scratch winces. Joey’s not sure if he’s wincing at the fact they told it or just the memory of it himself. The fountain involved Scratch just as much as it involved Joey.

“Are you going to lurk, or what?” Joey asks, because Scratch is still in the hall, and yeah, he said no Scouts, but Scratch doesn’t count.

“Ooh, the pit episode,” Scratch says, and sits down, glancing over at Joey. “Am I too dressed up? Do I need to get a robe?”

“I’ve got—”

“Yeah yeah,” Scratch says, disappearing down the hall into Joey’s room, and comes back wearing Joey’s ratty old robe. Casey maybe bought Joey the one he’s wearing to make him finally throw the old one out, but whatever. It’s a classic. Joey’s had it since he was like, fourteen, so it doesn’t fit him anymore, and it definitely doesn’t fit Scratch, barely clears his elbows and doesn’t belt right, but at least he’s got the self-care day spirit.

“Why’d you bail last night?” Joey asks when the credits are rolling, Netflix starting the countdown to the next episode.

“Wasn’t feeling it, I told you,” Scratch says, and he sounds normal, not grumpy like he did last night. Scratch isn’t really a moody person — unless he’s very hungry, in which case he is a raging asshole who defines the ‘hangry’ from Snickers commercials — but everyone has off nights. “You want more tea?” 

“Yeah, if you’re making it,” Joey asks, and when Scratch gets up, picking up the tea pot, he pauses the episode at the start, because if someone makes you tea, they probably deserve not to miss part of the show, even if Scratch has seen it almost as many times as Joey has.

“Is it a honey day?” Scratch says, then, “Wait, why am I even asking that, they told him about the fountain.”

“Two spoonfuls!” Joey says at his retreating back, and when Scratch returns with tea for Joey and cookies from the Scratch cupboard, Joey presses play.


End file.
